


Perspicillum

by Ignis (wingblade)



Series: In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Era, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum, Oral Sex, Pining, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15356922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingblade/pseuds/Ignis
Summary: “Well,” Prompto retorts, his voice high and teasing, “maybe if you hadn’t set ‘ignis’ as the password for your porn folder, I wouldn’t have found your stash.”





	Perspicillum

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure how to tag the pairings here, exactly. If you’re looking for a story where Noctis and Prompto are intimate with each other while thinking about other guys, you’re in the right place. For this first story, the promptis is platonic and sexual, while the ignoct and promptio are romantic. I hope that clears things up a bit, so people can decide whether or not this is something they wish to read.
> 
> This started off with me jotting down a few prompts I wanted to work with, and now it's a mini-series. Whoops.
> 
>  **Part one** : a weekly ritual is shared between friends.

“Wow, Noct,” Prompto says, eyes glued to the screen of his friend’s laptop. “And I mean wow.”

The sun is warm on Noctis’ skin as it peeks through the curtains Ignis left open the last time he came over to clean the apartment. His fingers are tapping roughly at his controller as he faces his third attempt at the final boss in his new game, and he hears Prompto’s words, but they are not quite registering. Biting his lip in frustration, he sighs as he loses once again, taunted by the game’s audacity to return him to the main menu, where he must listen to the happy, upbeat theme of the game for the hundredth time.

When he let Prompto use his laptop, Noctis figured he would end up snooping, and find the sorts of things no one was ever supposed to see; the things Noctis himself only ever gazed upon on the darkest of nights, and within the privacy of his own room. He just had not anticipated Prompto announcing his various finds.

“Wasn’t there something you were gonna do?” Noctis groans, closing his eyes and leaning against the back of the couch. “Some video you wanted to watch or something?”

“Well,” Prompto retorts, his voice high and teasing, “maybe if you hadn’t set ‘ignis’ as the password for your porn folder, I wouldn’t have found your stash.”

It is not a topic they have spoken of plainly — their mutual pining for unattainable men — but it is something they have both been aware of for years. It has been the cornerstone of their Friday night activities, after all; the meeting of hands and heated skin in which they both use the bodies of one another to appease their growing lust, at least until their next fevered union.

“I went out of my way to encrypt that damn folder, so you better stay out of it. I mean it, Prompto.” Despite the attempt to sound somewhat threatening, Noctis makes no move to stop his friend; his eyes are still closed, and he is on the precipice of sleep. Before he can make the final leap, the cushion beside him dips as his friend sits beside him.

“I think we should talk about this,” Prompto says, his voice solemn, having lost its usual playful tone.

“And I think you should let me sleep,” Noctis counters, curling up on the small, plush pillow he keeps on the couch for these sort of occasions; the situations in which sleep is his only comfort.

“I’m serious, Noct. You’ve got hundreds of videos, and they’re all of hot buff guys with glasses, and — are you listening to me? You even named the folder ‘specs.’ Like, you’re not even trying to hide it, dude.”

Noctis mumbles, “Everyone’s got their thing, ya know.”

“Except yours isn’t just ‘a thing,’” Prompto presses, touching Noctis’ knee in an attempt to comfort his lovelorn friend.

At this, Noctis snaps up, expression both exhausted and seething as he thins his eyes. “Alright, you wanna talk about ‘things?’ Let’s talk about your ‘thing,’ then; let’s talk about how you want to fuck Gladio so badly that you hoard tons of videos and magazines of super muscular guys with tattoos, and, I don’t know...scars?” He pauses to let out a loud, animalistic huff through his nose. “I mean, probably. Who’s to say my ‘thing’ is so weird, even?”

Prompto stiffens beside him. “That’s different. I don't know Gladio as well. You’re in _love_ with Ignis.”

“Alright, out.” Noctis stands, shaky on his feet; he grabs the back of the couch to steady himself. “Out. I’m tired. Just go home.”

“Okay, I’m leaving,” Prompto mutters as Noctis herds him to the front door, “but if you would just listen —”

For a moment, Noctis wonders what Prompto could possibly say to him that he has not told himself a million times over. The way Prompto insists he talk about his feelings is frustrating; Noctis has imagined a hundred different ways for him to sort through his emotions, and outside of their Friday night regimen, he cannot see any of the other options being plausible in any sense. And yet his friend’s worry is comforting, too; in its frequency, in its loyalty.

Something in the reminder of his friend’s devotion softens him, and this time when Prompto says, “You love him,” Noctis does not argue. Instead, he bunches up his fist in the front of Prompto’s shirt — not pulling him closer, but keeping him anchored. It is Prompto who bridges the distance, tilting Noctis’ chin up with his hand. His eyes are sad — big, blue, and pitiful — and it is a look Noctis knows is mirrored within his own.

Prompto kisses him, and before long, their hands are beneath each other’s shirts, with Noctis lying back on the couch. A few minutes prior, he had nearly fallen asleep here, and yet now Prompto is leaning over him, bunching up his shirt at his collarbone so that he can place quick, sultry kisses down Noctis’ stomach. Before Noctis can manage to strip his friend out of a single article of clothing, Prompto tosses Noctis’ belt to the floor, dipping his hands into his underwear. In the next moment, Prompto’s mouth is around him — tight and warm, if a bit unexpected. Prompto’s hand wraps around him to steady the bobbing motion of his lips as Noctis tries to find something to preoccupy his own hands with. He touches his stomach, trailing his hands up the soft skin, then up to his chest where, after a moment, he closes his eyes and twists his nipples between his fingers, imagining those moss green eyes staring back up at him.

They have never done this before. Where once there had only been rough hands and closed eyes, there is now something more — something altogether more intimate, and yet more dangerous.

“Prompto, I’m getting close,” Noctis moans, with a slight involuntary thrust of his hips. “You gotta...you gotta finish with your hands.”

That is what they do, after all — finish each other with their hands — but Prompto sits back for a moment. He looks down at Noctis, similar to the woeful stare from earlier, but somehow more hopeful. Bits of clear pre-cum coat his lips, and he smiles, shaking his head.

“Moan his name for me, okay? When you come, scream ‘Ignis.’”

Before Noctis can protest, Prompto’s mouth is on him again; tighter now, faster now. Noctis clutches at the side of the couch, his fingers tearing out loose threads as his mind succumbs to the mix of the sensations overwhelming him.

“Oh, gods. Oh, gods — _Ignis_.”

Prompto pulls away after Noctis’ hips have stilled; after they have stopped trembling in bliss. As Noctis’ high fades, a strange guilt settles into his stomach, twisting it in knots. But there is relief, too — in accepting and sharing this burden with his best friend. The couch shifts as Prompto stands, and Noctis reaches for him, grabbing his arm.

“Let me finish you, too,” Noctis says, his voice hoarse. Prompto shakes his head, peeling Noctis’ hand from his arm and holding it tenderly, his thumb making soft strokes against his wrist.

“I’ll see you on Friday,” Prompto replies, pressing a kiss to his best friend’s forehead before leaving.

* * *

“I just think it’s funny,” Prompto is saying a few days later as he and Noctis wait outside for their ride home from the arcade. “Like, you’re not picky at all. Any guy with glasses will do, huh?”

Noctis rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Haven’t you got this out of your system yet?”

“Just what is it you find so sexy about glasses?” Prompto teases, his eyes shining despite the darkness of the evening hour. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Leaning back against the wall of the arcade, Noctis sighs loudly and crosses his arms, deeming his friend a lost cause, when a familiar voice cuts into the night, scolding them: “Oh, Prompto. Everyone has their thing, you know.”

Ignis steps into the light of the arcade’s entrance, car keys in hand.

“Even if that thing does happen to be glasses,” he adds, smirking at Noctis’ awestruck expression. Noctis' mouth has fallen wide open in a silent scream.

“Better close your mouth, Noct,” Prompto calls, hopping into the backseat of the car. “Don’t want flies landing in it, and all that.”


End file.
